Fade
by Ingram Solomon
Summary: AU: After her mother's death, Arie Temple is stripped of her Capitol citizenship and sent to live with her biological father, Haymitch Abernathy in Twelve. Gale Hawthorne takes issue at once with the young Capitolite woman, as they teeter the line between passionate prejudice and hate-fueled attraction. Gale/ OC
1. Chapter 1

Summary: After her mother's death, Arie Temple is stripped of her Capitol citizenship and sent to live with her biological father, Haymitch Abernathy in Twelve. Gale Hawthorne takes issue at once with the young Capitolite woman, as they teeter on the line between passionate prejudice and hate-fueled attraction.

Chapter One:

It was a simple, yet taxing dilemma:

_What does one wear when meeting their father for the first time?_

I scowled at the barrage of bright colored chiffons, taffetas and lace strewn across the bed of my compartment. _None_ of it would do.

It was a shame.

I had taken such care to pick out my plainest outfits. If it was dowdy, boring, or mousy by Capitol standards, it was still a far cry from the burlap bags they wore in Twelve. It's not like I hadn't watched those kids every year on the screen. Surveying their gaunt faces and worthless attire never failed to pull my painted lips down into an offended frown. Their hand-me-down couture was appalling. I had said as much to the gossipy snots I'd considered my friends back then. Sipping champagne, we had laughed about how truly dismal their lives must be to wear such _god-awful_ clothing. I had nothing, _nothing,_ like what they wore: simple cottons in every shade of dirt you could imagine. They don't sell such things where I'm from. Where I _was_ from.

The train was scheduled to arrive in twenty minuets, and I hadn't even had a chance to scrub off my makeup. I plucked a little emerald number from the pile. I don't know what I was thinking when I bought it. The color was nice, but nothing else about it worked. Having gone straight from the garment bag to my closet, it was slowly pushed to the way back. Even in it's simple design, it was still too grandiose a garment to traipse through Twelve in. I wasn't Effie Trinket. I didn't get to go home to the Capitol ever again. If I had any hope of surviving my new life, I knew blending in as much as possible would be paramount. If there is anything intrinsically bred into a Capitolite, surely it's our unflappable sense of self-preservation. Well, that… and good manners, of course.

Snatching a pair of scissors from the pocket of my makeup bag, I eyed the garment shrewdly. The brooch and feather collar would have to go, and the foam in the shoulders could be ripped out easy enough. Making quick work of the adjustments, I held the de-glamafied dress up to myself in the mirror, my eyes bright with hope.

Nope.

Still, just… awful. With a disgruntled throaty sound, I threw it at the bed to teach it a lesson for being ugly.

Running my thin fingers acoss the angle of my jaw, I looked down my nose at it. There really were no other options. I suppose it was… plainer…ish. But that green! The color was still far too vibrant, and the cut too clingy to pass as a true district dress. I turned my back on it, resigned. It's not like I would be able to fool any one anyway. I could don brown cotton, but my accent, grammar, practiced walk, elevated opinions, everything about me, would give me away as a Capitolite… and there was little I could do to change that now.

Walking into the pocket-sized bathroom I took a sober look at myself in the mirror. It would be the last time I would ever be made up like this. My insides twisted as a dull sadness crept out of my bones. Pulling out a tissue, I started dabbing at my lavender colored lips. My mother had given me this shimmer lip-gloss just before…

At once it was as if someone had kicked me in the stomach. My lungs constricted painfully as an ache so feral and cruel nearly dropped me to my knees. Tears flowed to the corners of my eyes against my will. Slipping out, they mercilessly dragged the white powder on my cheeks down in streaks of blue mascara. The result was grisly. Like a harlequin emerging from a dunk tank.

Perhaps it should be like a bandage?

Flicking my wrist, I turned the faucet on full blast, gasping at the icy sting of the water as I splashed my face. Scrubbing until my cheeks were as pink as my wig, I finally looked up at my makeup free face. I'm not sure how to describe the sound that bubbled forth as I cringed away from my reflection. Something akin to: 'euhh-ehww'. On impulse, I stepped further away and two loud and cruel words crashed against the walls in my mind: . Boring pale skin, and tepid peach lips. I took out my contacts, and suddenly my eyes were just like anyone else. No dark, deep set pupils, no allure. Just brown. Like mud.

Looking up at my fuchsia bee-hive, I couldn't help the sob that wracked my body. I _adored_ that wig. I had worn it first at Marco Appleton's 16th Birthday party. He had complimented it's height, (tallest in the room!) and then kissed me on his terrace under the glittering city lights. That had easily been the best night of my life.

A shaky breath stumbled up from my lungs, and I began to unpin it, all the while, my chin quivered. It was like taking off a beloved memory to be cast aside, and never thought of again. Underneath, my dirty blonde hair was pulled back in a harsh bun. Looking at myself I wanted to both scream and vomit. I looked just like them. I looked like a kid from the districts. Like a dirt-poor traitor.

I pulled off my long stick on nails, revealing the chapped nail beds beneath. Pulling out the gold pins holding my bun, my mousy blonde hair cascaded in waves over my shoulders and down to the middle of my back.

I rushed from the bathroom, slamming the door behind me, unable to look in the mirror a moment longer. Snatching up the destroyed dress, I donned it with the same enthusiasm one would a garbage bag.

I didn't bother packing any of the other dresses back up. I wouldn't be able to wear them now anyway. I would keep my gorgeous and costly underthings though. No one would see those anyhow. If I had no choice but to wear dingy linen for the rest of my days, you'd better be damned sure I'd at least have something pretty on underneath.

I felt the train loosing speed and took a steadying breath. Chancing one last glance at myself in the full length mirror, I immediately regretted it.

Since my mother's death I hadn't really been eating, and only then did I realize how gaunt I had become. There were hallows under my cheek bones now. Dark circles dimmed the soft skin below my eyes, and the angle of my jaw was too sharp. The dress was too big, and hung on my body like a shower curtain. I'd lost all of my curviness, except for my breasts. Thanks to Dr. Sheldon, those would _never_ look gaunt. I'd had the chest of a little boy before. It had been an early present for my 15th birthday from my Mother.

It was the only thing from my former life I couldn't ever take off.

Biting my lip, I tried not to cry. I tried to muster my bravest face. I tried to recall Madame Dorrell's instructions on always maintaining a 'winning smile'. Picking up three of my bags, I left the other seven in the compartment. The cleaning staff would divvy them up later, no doubt. A lilting Capitol-accented robo-voice beeped on over the intercom, and announced our arrival at District Twelve.

I nearly fainted.

XXX

It shouldn't have surprised me to see that I was the only passenger getting off. Not even diplomats or emissaries came to twelve. I squinted my eyes at the glaring sun, shining far too hot for an early April day. A khaki colored land lay before me. Dirt roads, brown buildings, tan and crooked brick paths. I frowned at the yellowed and brittle patched grass next to the wooden District Twelve sign. They must not have a sprinkler system. Odd… yet not really, I suppose.

Then my eye caught sight of two men standing to the left of the platform. I recognized the first as the disheveled and slouched form of my biological father.

Haymitch Abernathy.

Neither of us made a move. Neither of us smiled. We just stood and stared across the expanse of cracked cement at one another.

Shifting my purse up on my shoulder, I took a step towards them. My emerald heels clacked along the cement. I placed each footfall carefully to avoid a misstep that would through off the rhythm. Glancing about, I wondered where all the people were. It was eerily quite. Unnervingly so.

"Haymitch Abernathy?" I don't know why I asked. I knew what he looked like. I had seen him on the television, in all his sloppy glory, every year as long as I could remember.

He made a curt nod and we sized each other up, neither of us interested in a warm embrace or even a congenial handshake.

A quick glance to my right, and my eyes fell upon an impossibly tall, stoic young man. I recognized him at once as the handsome cousin of the tribute from two years prior. None of my simpering friends had shut up about him. His dark almond eyes were wide and intent as he shamelessly looked me over. It was quite a rude thing to do. Suddenly he dropped his gaze to the ground, as his strong jaw clenched. I shuddered inwardly at how hideous he must find me. I was naked without my makeup. Clearing my throat awkwardly, I lifted my chin level with the ground and announced,

"I'm Arie Temple…"

"I know who you are," Haymitch cut me off gruffly. Nodding to the young man next to him, "This is Gale Hawthorne, he's come to help me with your bags." He cast a weary glance back at the platform, no doubt expecting footmen to produce them at any moment.

"Ouh… thesse iz it." I shrugged, noticing for the first time how different I sounded than them. Did they even realize how their cadence rendered their speech to sound so, so… _lowborn_.

"That's all you brought?" Haymitch's brows furrowed in.

"Yess." I looked down at the dusty bricks, feeling hot with embarrassment, though I couldn't say why.

"Well… I guess…" Haymitch trailed off as Gale held out his hand for my bags. I looked at his dirt caked palms, and swallowed. The way he flopped his hand out made it clear that he was less than thrilled to have the 'great honor' of carrying what was left of my belongings. Not that I could blame him. We all knew how the people in the districts hated us. And why shouldn't they? We had everything. _I had had everything._

"I'll manage," I breathed. No need to further burden the already disgruntled. I looked up at him expecting him to be happy to be off the hook, but was instantly alarmed by the dark glare he was giving me.

"It's a long walk back to the house, Arie…" It was odd hearing my father stumble over my name, truly a foreign word on his lips. In vain, I hoped he would never say it again.

"You don't have a car?" I asked looking about, only to find not a single vehicle in sight. I caught the annoyed snort from Gale as he all but rolled his eyes at my question.

"There are no cars in Twelve." Haymitch said it as though it was a fact I needed to know. I suppose it was. Turning on his heel he started towards the street. My eyes trailing him, I wondered if I was meant to follow. The strap on my shoulder began to lift, and I jumped as I whipped my head to the side to find Gale suddenly quite close to my person removing the largest of my three bags. I instinctively flushed.

"Oh…" Was all I could say as he placed it over his own shoulder. It was a bright tangerine leather and looked _ridiculous_ against his brown trousers and ratty thermal shirt. He looked mortified at having to carry such an obnoxious bag. I nearly smirked, but thought better of it. Turning my attention to the retreating back of Haymitch, I frowned. "He's not very chatty…" turning my gaze to Gale, he gave me a thoughtful look in return… for only a moment before it turned seven shades of sour.

"You'll find most of us aren't," his tone was clipped, and without another word he followed after Haymitch, easily catching up to him with his long stride.

Rude.

To Be Cont.

A/N: I haven't a clue how you will react to this OC, but feel free to tell me… You have no idea how feed back (good or bad) helps! Thank you for taking time to read this.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

We walked through what I assumed was their main street. Neither bothered to fill me in on my new surroundings. Both were clearly reluctant to be any sort of tour guide, and I didn't dare break the silence of our trek.

I knew it was going to be a bleak place, but nothing could have prepared me for the shantyville that was Twelve. It was as though the town as a whole was in some sort of secret contest to win the prize for ugliest building. Even their Justice building was dilapidated. We had stopped in momentarily to file some paperwork, and I was issued a 'temporary' ID. Though, nothing about my situation or my stay in Twelve was temporary. The clerk behind the desk was a young man with a hooknose, and glasses. I swear his eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw me. I knew I wasn't the prettiest girl around, but good grief, there was no need to be so rude! I sighed, as he handed me the plastic badge, and tried to keep the testiness from my voice as I thanked him. As we left, silence followed us.

At the end of the street I saw what was likely meant to be some sort of park. It was completely deserted. Such an odd sight, having grown up in a metropolis.

"Where is everyone?" I couldn't help but ask.

"School… work." Haymitch shrugged. Talkative, that one. I just made a simple nod. The schooling must be quite different here. I had gone to the Malkin Refinishing Academy for Young Ladies. I doubted if they even had a Refinishing Academy in Twelve. And as for a job, well I had never needed one before. I looked about, wondering if I was expected to get one now? The only thing I was good at was practiced affectation, and I highly doubted they desired an etiquette teacher here. I had focused in the field of culinary arts, but everyone in the Capitol knew that was just an M.R.S degree. Any wellborn lady hoping to snag a rich and influential husband had to be well versed in the art of homemaking with a certain flair for entertaining. None of these things would serve me well here. Such skills were useless outside the realm of polite society. Not that it mattered, as it was very unlikely I would ever get married now anyway. I pretended like that thought didn't break my heart.

By the time we made it past the school my feet were aching from my pumps, pinching my toes and rubbing the skin on my heel raw. But I kept with their grueling pace, not wanting to slow them down. Not wanting to appear weak. Despite the early spring day, a light sheen of sweat had broken out across my forehead and chest, and I shifted the bags on my arms restlessly. I walked a few yards behind the two quiet men as I pondered their relationship. They seemed content in their silence. It was companionable, that of friends perhaps? I looked at the back of Gale's head. The skin of his neck was bronzed a golden brown, even this early in the year, and I wondered if he worked outside. He must have been some sort of laborer. His calloused and dirty hands certainly suggested as much, not to mention the muscles peeking out of his pushed up sleeves. His shoulders were wide and toned, and he stood a full foot taller than Haymitch. None of the young men in the capitol had a laborers' build. And it was rare to see one so tall. They were generally thin, but rather doughy at the same time. Soft, pudgy even. Perhaps that was why all the women went gaga for the career tributes each year. Bodies built by hard labor were certainly far more appealing.

He suddenly glanced back at me, pulling me from my thoughts as my eyes locked with his dark, seering gaze. With a disgruntled sigh, he suddenly turned towards me and grabbed both of my other bags gruffly. Without a word, he turned back around and fell into stride with Haymitch. I gaped at him for a moment, unsure if I should be grateful or_ thoroughly_ shocked and appalled. In the end, I was thankful as my burning shoulders tingled with relief.

As we came upon the entrance to the cul-de-sac of vacant mansions of the Victors Village I felt a chill work its way up my spine. The houses were like living ghosts of the dead tributes that would never live within their walls. Only three houses on the long street were occupied. They sat across the circle from each other in triangle formation, and the only sign that anyone lived in them was the three green lawns.

The two men broke off towards the house on the left of the street, and I followed along, as the road turned from dirt to cobblestone. The dirt had been difficult in heels, but the cobblestone was so unevenly laid that it was nearly impossible. I was thankful when we reached the smooth flagstone drive. Suddenly, the front door of the house swung wide and a middle-aged woman with gracious eyes stepped out onto the front porch. She was flanked by three children. It was obvious on first glance that she was related to Gale. They had the same hair, eyes and coloring, though her countenance seemed considerably more amiable.

"Hello Arie, and welcome!" She walked forward and instantly embraced me in a bone crushing hug. Pulling back, she made a quick introduction "I'm Hazelle Hawthorne, and these are my children Rory, Vic, and this is Posy." I smiled because hers was simply contagious. It was also the polite thing to do. She continued with a wave, "Of course you've already met my oldest, Gale." Oh yes, I had certainly met her sourpuss of a son.

"Hello Hazel," I managed as I looked between the three attractive children surrounding her, "It's lovely to meet you all." My tone betrayed my words. It came out weak, and radiated with unease. My elocution teacher would have been appalled. Posy stood just behind her Mother, peeking around her shyly as she looked up at me with a small smile. Likely having just entered grade school, she was a little beauty with her pretty dark ringlets tucked into a ponytail. Vick was older, probably just about to enter junior high, and he had an impish sparkle to his young dark eyes. A heart-breaker in the making, no doubt. I gave him a little smile, which only caused his own, to widen. However, when I looked at Rory, who was clearly in the prime of his adolescence, I nearly slapped him for the way he shamelessly eyed my breasts.

"How was your journey? Are you hungry?" Hazelle quickly ushered me into the house, and I was glad to pass out of her son's obvious eye line.

I didn't really know what to expect walking in to my new home. I suppose I expected the inside to look like Haymitch on the outside. A bit unkempt, disheveled even. But the home I walked into, though modest by Capitol standards, was absolutely charming.

It smelled like new paint, and all the walls where bright and crisp in various shades of neutral and comforting tones. The floors were a rich dark wood with a lacquer upon them that made them shine gloriously. The front entry held a simple wrought iron pendant light fixture and the table along the wall had fresh wild flowers in a an old jar. Facing me was a white staircase to upstairs and a hallway that ran presumably towards the kitchen. Off the main entrance were two sitting rooms it appeared.

"Well, I'll show you to your room first, and then give you the tour," Hazelle started up the steps, Posy trailing her, much the same way I did my own mother at six. I glanced at Haymitch who was looking at me expectantly, and all at once it fully hit me.

This was my life now.

A terrifying panic gripped and twisted my lungs until they burned. This sudden onslaught of trepidation must have shown plainly upon my face, because Haymitch frowned. I should have cared enough to conceal my emotions, but I was too consumed, thoroughly drowning behind my eyes in that surging chaotic hysteria.

"Are you coming, dear?"

And just like that it snapped. It was suddenly gone in such a way as though it had never happened. My mind was free and clear, my breath steady and my heart rate dropping. I started towards the steps, and once again found Gale's keen dark eyes fastened upon me. I looked away as though burned by it. What was his problem!? To say he unnerved me, would have been a gross understatement. I nearly screamed, when I heard him following me up the stair. I just wanted more than anything to be out of his unsettling presence, but then I remembered my bags. He was just helping to deliver them to my room. I forced my self to take a steadying breath, but only grew further annoyed when it shuddered through me on the exhale, revealing to all my current state of distress.

The hall at the top of the stairs was bright and sunny with a lead-paned window on each end of the corridor. Hazel led me off to the corner room facing the back yard.

"Well, this is your room," Her voice was overly cheery, probably in an attempt to soothe. Opening the white door, she stood back to let me in.

The first thing I noticed was the light…. the second, the color. It was about the size of my room in our apartment in the city, though it had far more windows being a corner room and it was absolutely flooded with natural light. The walls where a vibrant light blue that seemed to glow with all the sunlight pouring into the room. My heart clenched at the color.

"Uh…Haymitch said he remembered your mother being fond of a flower this color… but we can paint it to whatever you like." Hazel was clearly nervous of my reaction. Surely they had vacillated at length over whether or not to paint it this shade of indigo.

"Bachelor Buttons…" I couldn't help it as tears filled my eyes as a wistfulness overtook me, "It's a weed," I mumbled, though not really to Hazelle, not really to anyone, "She grew them on our balcony." I clenched my teeth and willed the water in my eyes to recede. Turning to Hazel I placed my small ivory hand on her tanned forearm, "It's lovely." I tried to sound reassuring, and I hoped the desperate emotion in my voice didn't leak through. She looked truly pleased, and for some reason it bothered me. I felt a tear slip free, so I turned away, discreetly smoothing the lone tear along my jawline with my knuckle. How they had managed to mix such a shade was perplexing. Not quite blue, not quite lavender, but rather, the most elegant hue in between. With the natural light, the whole room glowed brilliantly.

The four-poster bed was a gentle ivory and looked brand new with a white matelassé coverlet, and matching pillows. The nightstand, dresser and vanity in front of the largest window all matched. It was an immaculate and well-appointed room. For a moment, my heart felt glad. It was a far cry from my usual flashy taste, but I could appreciate the attempt at symmetry. The modest materials held a certain charm in their simplicity.

My eyes landed on the ivory bench at the end of the bed, and I noticed the most beautiful decal of Bachelor Buttons painted across it. I touched it hesitantly with my fingers tracing the pattern. "How nice."

"Hmm?" Hazel asked, as she busied her self with linens on the dresser top, "Oh Peeta painted that. He lived with his family two houses over." I noticed Gale's jaw involuntarily clench in the vanity mirror's reflection.

"Lived?" I asked at her use of the past tense.

"Oh, yes, well he lives across the street now… with his wife, Katniss and her family. They'll all be coming over for dinner tomorrow night to meet you," She paused, and I could tell she was uneasy to ask the next question, "Did you watch their…season?"

"Oh… no, not really, only the… highlights, I guess." _Highlights? _I could have picked a hundred better words.

"Mmmm," Hazel made a non-committal noise, and looked at me seriously, "If you don't mind me asking…when did your mother tell you… about Haymitch, I mean?"

"No, it's fine," I waved my hand casually, my voice dull and flat. "Well…she told me when I was fifteen… It was just after she found out… she was sick. We didn't know how much time she'd… well anyway, she thought I should know."

"You poor poor dear, so much upheaval these last four years," Hazel all but jerked me into another bone crushing hug. I didn't like it. I could tell she was being genuine, but I didn't want to be hugged by her. It wasn't fair of me to pull away so quickly when she was just trying to be kind and comforting.

It was clear her son, who awkwardly loomed in the doorway, did not seem to share his mother's sentiments. Disdain radiated off of him in waves. Upon first impression, it seemed unlikely we would ever be friends. Posy, who stood next to him, rested her head upon his hip as though it was the most natural thing to do. Apparently his disdain was reserved solely for me… and perhaps those like me.

"Well, Haymitch and I are at the far end of the hall. You're room is next to Posy's and Rory and Vick share the large room across the hall. This room has it's own bathroom like ours. The kids will share the one in the hall."

As Hazel rattled on, the pieces of the puzzle began to fall into place. Haymitch was shacking up with this lady. She was not a housekeeper… but rather a house occupant. This I did _not_ expect. Though, it did put me at ease slightly. The thought of living with Haymitch all alone was terrifying. At least there would be the buffer of this nice lady and her children. I noticed she had not mentioned Gale's room, and breathed a further sigh of relief. Hopefully he lived in the town somewhere. He was certainly too old to be living at home with his parents. Suddenly, the congenial silence I had witnessed before made sense. It was that of Psuedo-Step Father and Stepson. How odd.

"Gale, lives in the apartment over the carriage house, his workshop is just below." Hazel pointed out the window, by my bed. I nearly cringed. That was still far too close for comfort. I looked out the window and realized I had a clear vantage point of the large detached garage. To my dismay, I could see right into the window that looked into his second story apartment. Those shades would be coming down at once!

Hazel looked at her son, and noticed the bags.

"You didn't bring much?" Hazel asked gently.

"I didn't really think my former attire would…. fit in… here." I swallowed hard, and could nearly feel Gale's glare on me. I highly doubt any of them had _ever_ referred to the clothes they wore as 'attire'.

"I see… well, just in case, I picked up a few things for you." She opened the small closet and a few pastel colored cotton dresses in delicate prints hung neatly inside. They were nothing like the elegant clothes of the Capitol, but I was surprised that the notion of wearing them didn't cause me to vomit. Were these considered 'fine dresses' by Twelve standards? Was I looking at the height of cultural fashion for Twelve? Hazel continued, "Anything you don't like we can resell."

"No, I'm sure they will do quite well," I managed to muster what I hoped was a genuine smile. I would be remiss if I didn't thank such obvious forethought and kindness.

"Oh! I need to get you some towels!" Hazel announced, as she realized the shelf in the closet was empty. Posy, eager to help disappeared into the hall, followed by her mother.

Gale shifted awkwardly on his feet, and cleared his throat,

"Where a…" and suddenly I realized he was still carrying my bags.

"Oh… um, just anywhere is fine," I intended to sound self-posessed, but it came out far to airy. He set them down roughly on the painted bench, covering completely the design. I contemplated this action far more than was neccessay. I was further surprised that he didn't immediately turn to leave.

"So, do you need help?" It was the most lackluster offer of aid I had ever heard in my life. I suppose he said it to be polite, or because his mother had told him to, either way, I nearly had a mind to tell him 'yes' just to mortify him. He began to rub the back of his neck, looking increasingly uncomfortable.

"No… thank you, though." And then I did the single worst thing I could have ever done. It was a knee-jerk reaction from years of living in a culture that included servitude, but that was not really an excuse. Without thinking, I reached for my pocketbook to hand him a tip. As I flipped it open I realized what I was doing, and a wave of white-hot mortification washed over me. I froze, not daring to look up. Thankfully, I noticed a tube of lip-gloss hidden in between the bills. My emergency stash! I whipped it out at once and slathered it on as if that was my intention all along. It was a deep brownish plum, and when I looked back at Gale, he couldn't keep the disgust off his face at what he must have thought a queer color to paint ones lips. He shook his head, and left at once.

Breathing a sigh of relief, I wiped the gloss off on the back of my hand, and chucked the tube into the trash basin by my vanity. Insult adverted.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3:

The tour of the home was…brisk.

Built by the Capitol, its shell held all the grandeur of my former residence; mahogany pocket doors, artisan carved crown molding, marble counters, aged walnut flooring. Yet, the furnishings, the very heart of the house, were of cheap lumber, simple design, and no apparent attempt at symmetry. Each room was an odd collection of mismatched pieces, curated seemingly without much thought to scheme or placement. It seemed as though my room was the only one that was given any real thought or attention to such matters.

Left to unpack my bags, I was glad of the company when Posy wandered in. She sat on the closed lid of the toilet and watched me arrange the glass bottles of my skin care products on the counter, wondering aloud why I should need so many. It took only a moment for her to warm up to me, and I realized at once that she was a relentless chatterbox. She had thousands of questions about the Capitol and they all came pouring out one by one in a rush of child-like curiosity and innocence. Giving her vague answers, I tried to only tell her what I assumed she already knew. I couldn't say why, but I had the distinct impression that her eldest brother would not appreciate me regaling his sister with all the wonders of the Capitol.

When Hazelle called Posy down to set the table, I only had my intimates left to put away. There was _no way_ I was pulling those out in front of the inquisitive six-year old. They were the only items to occupy my dresser. Never the less, I arranged them according to color. To say I had a fondness for pastels would be an understatement and I only owned one matching set of black lace. Shoving the pair all the way to the back of the drawer, I cringed inwardly at the bitter sweet memories they always evoked. That set had only been worn once… the night I lost my virginity to Marco Appleton. What a _disaster_ that had been! All the build up of an unrequited crush, years in the making, culminating in our first 'real' date… followed by rather hurried and lousy lovemaking. The actual act had been quite a let down. Quick, unsatisfying, and a bit painful. It was only after, that I realized most of the things that attracted me to Marco where imaginings of my own design. I had spent years building him up in my mind into someone he could never hope to be. Such a painful lesson to learn. Though not nearly as painful as the lesson his scoundrel of an older brother, Ronson, had taught me. My blood always boiled at the very thought of him. Needless to say, I had thrown out the pair I had worn the night I willingly slipped into his bed. He was scores better at lovemaking than his little brother, but a cruel prick all the same.

I was untangling the straps of my lacy peach bra and jeweled mint one, lost in my thoughts, when a sharp knock on my open door resounded. I looked up to see both Gale and Rory in my doorway, staring with rapt attention at the bras in my hands.

Gale cleared his throat, casting his eyes anywhere but on me, "Uh, dinner's ready…" his low voice rumbled and trailed off, as he looked over at his younger, though only slightly shorter brother. Rory's eyes were trained on me, and he was losing the fight to keep his gleeful smirk from his face. My skin crawled at the lecherous look he was giving me. Unable to keep his smart mouth shut he announced,

"_Those_ are nice." Surely the blood drained from my face. The little perv! I tossed the tangled heap into the open drawer and slammed it shut. A merciless blush crept up my neck, and set my cheeks ablaze.

"Rory!" Gale barked, while elbowing him hard, and shoving him from the room and into the hall. My nose wrinkled in disgust, and I quickly slipped past them and fled towards the stairs. As I made my decent I distinctly heard Rory's delighted and bawdy tone,

"I mean, did you see the size of them!"

"Knock it off!" Gale menaced, and then I heard scuffling, and thumping in the hallway. No doubt they were wrestling. This was confirmed a few minuets later when Rory arrived at the dinner table with a ripe rug burn on his cheek. Hazelle sat me at the head of the table, and I nearly choked on my water when Gale took the seat opposite me at the other end. I adverted my gaze to the side, cursing my body as another heated flush crept up my neck in a wave of mortification.

Hazelle had made roasted potatoes, onions and carrots, and a small roast beef. I scooped a helping of veggies onto my plate when passed to me, and took a slice of bread out of the breadbasket. I pondered if this was a typical meal for them, or if this was a _special occasion_ meal. Hazelle started to serve me a slice of roast beef,

"Mmm, none for me, thank you," I took the warm tray from her and passed it to Vick. She looked at me stunned. Even Haymitch had a concerned frown.

"Are you sure, Arie? There's plenty, and…" I realized she thought I refused because I was afraid there wasn't enough to go around. I cut her off at once,

"Uh… no, I just… " how to explain this, "Well… I don't eat meat."

"Come again?"

"I don't eat meat?" it came out the second time as a question, I quickly prattled on, "I haven't for years actually. It's, ah… just a lifestyle choice… in the Capitol."

"How nice to have that choice." Gale spat from the end of the table, my eyes drawn to his glare. His bitterness was palpable.

"I just never cared for the texture," I prattled on quickly diverting my gaze from his cold eyes, from everyone's eyes. The thought of chewing on flesh had never sat well with me, but I kept that to myself. For all I knew, they ate their dead here. I realized at once how insulted they all felt at this choice of mine. There was no need for them to take it personally, but never the less they did. I attempted to smooth over the situation as best I could, "But really Hazelle, everything looks wonderful, and smells delicious. And even though I don't eat meat, I have been told I'm quite good at cooking it, so if you ever need a hand in the kitchen, I'd be more than happy to help."

"Oh, that's sweet. No worries at all dear, I really should have asked if you had any… dietary needs." From the corner of my eye I saw Gale's jaw clench as his eyes bugged out in annoyance.

"There's really nothing beyond that," I tried to assure her, "But truly, I really do love cooking, so if you ever need help…" I tried not to let the desperation eek into my voice. Truth be told, I was addicted to cooking. It was the only thing that calmed me.

"Well, I just may take you up on that," Hazelle smiled, "Did you learn from your mother?"

"No! That woman couldn't boil water to save her life ," I smirked to myself, only to look up at six blank faces, clearing my throat, "No, I learned at school… it was my academic focus."

"Cooking?" Vick asked surprised, as he smeared goat cheese on his bread.

"Well, Culinary Arts," I amended with a smile.

"So… _cooking_." Gale bit out, from the end of the table, fork half raised to his mouth, clearly unimpressed with the title.

"Yes… cooking." I replied dryly and a bit deflated.

"Well, I'm sure you'll get on great with Peeta, he has a certain flare for _culinary arts_…" she tried out the term, "…if I do say so, I'm sure he'll want to pick your brain," Hazelle went on, "They'll all be over tomorrow for dinner… along with Peeta's parents, and Iris and Prim."

"Oh, yes, Iris is your sister, right?" I asked, remembering a clip from one of Katniss' interviews discussing her cousin, Gale. Apparently they were quite close.

"Well…no.." Hazelle, looked to Haymitch.

"Oh, I thought…" I glanced at Gale, and the glare he was giving me caused my words to die out.

"That was just a story they told the Capitol." Rory announced, his mouth full of food. _Disgusting_. "It made it seem _mooore ap-proop-riate_" his Effie Trinket impression was spot on, "for Katniss' best friend to be a guy… you know, as long as he was family."

"Well, that's stupid." I blurted without thinking.

"Why's that?" Gale snapped.

Suddenly the whole table was looking at me. I couldn't very well tell him the truth. Namely, that it's widely assumed in the Capitol that many in the districts are born from inbreeding. The story of a male best friend, cousin or no, would incite rumors regardless. No… I certainly couldn't tell him that. So I gave them the second reason I thought it was dumb:

"My best friend growing up was a male… it's not really uncommon."

"Oh, what was his name?" Posy chirped up with a smile. 'Best friends' was a favorite topic of hers, it seemed. I learned this after listening to her rank her entire kindergarten class in order from 'Bestest Best Forever Friend' to 'friend', earlier in the afternoon. Apparently, even the girls she didn't seem to like still received the label 'friend'. I had not had a similar experience at her age. Girls didn't like me at all then, and I certainly didn't like them either. I only really had one friend growing up….

"Marco," I answered.

"Is he handsome?" I smiled. What a girly and childish thing to ask.

"Yes," I gave her a little wink, and she beamed.

"Did you ever hook up with him?"

"Rory!" Hazelle hissed, as Gale kicked him under the table. What. A. Creep. He was going to require patience of the most taxing kind.

"We did date, for a while," I bit out as he rubbed his shin, "… but it didn't work out."

"Why not?" Posy asked crest fallen. No doubt she had had time enough to imagine a great love story in the making.

"It just wasn't meant to be," I took a sip of my water and tried to sound casual, "He's dating my friend Elsa, has been for a while. They're quite serious, I think." My attempts at sounding happy for them fell flat.

"So he dumped you and dated your friend?" Rory asked, pointing his fork at me. _So rude._

"That wasn't very nice of him," Vick piped in, shaking his head and looking affronted for me. So sweet. The only son of Hazelle Hawthorne, I liked.

"It wasn't exactly like that…" well, except, it kind of was exactly like that, but he needn't know that.

"Well, you're in good company," Rory eyed his older brother like he was prey, "Gale here always thought he'd end up with…"

"That's enough, Rory." It was the first that Haymitch had spoken the whole night. His voice was soft, but deadly serious. The authority of it caused a chill to run down my spine. Rory, closed his mouth instantly and shrugged looking down at his plate. The look on Gale's face was _murderous_, and the way he held his steak knife, grip tense and knuckles white, was alarming.

I nearly cringed. Even with the interruption, Rory had said far too much. It wasn't good natured ribbing between brothers that had just transpired. Rory had been going for the jugular. It all clicked into place. _Gale loves his best friend, Katniss_. An easy mistake to make, I knew all too well. _And she had married another_. I had watched the live broadcast of their wedding. It was the talk of the town for weeks on end. Many Capitolites had thrown lavish viewing parties when it aired. I had gone to Petra Cornwell's. _And now, he lives across the street from the happy couple_. This thought caused my breath to catch. How torturous. For only a moment, I began to feel sorry for him…

Though, it was easily forgotten. He would despise my pity anyhow. The awkward silence was broken when Posy announced,

"Rory has _two_ girlfriends," Rory's head snapped up at this, his sullenness wiped away as a smug bravado replaced it. He looked at me as though I should be impressed.

"Well, Posy, girls are rather stupid at that age," I replied dryly.

At the end of the table Gale choked on his water, as Haymitch looked right at me and chuckled loudly. It caused my heart to flutter a little, and I couldn't help it as the corner of my mouth tipped up into a smirk. Why Haymitch laughing at my dumb joke should matter, I couldn't say. It just _did_. Even Hazelle was trying to hide her laughter. Posy and Vick both began to laugh as well… though a bit delayed, as they didn't actually understand why the four of us were amused in the first place. Posy suddenly erupted in a fit of giggles, just happy to join in.

"Yeah… those girls are _stupid_," she exclaimed through giggle fits, mimicking me. This set us all off into a new wave of laughter at Rory's expense. He'd survive it.

I glanced at Gale to see him wink at Posy, his features up lit in a generous and pure smile. Seeing it set off a new onslaught of flutters, though a very _different_ kind than before. Good heavens, he was _handsome_ when he smiled. White straight teeth, head cocked to the side, angular jaw, his eyes glittering… and the way the skin crinkled at the corners of his brown eyes… just handsome. I got the feeling that smiles like this were solely reserved for his cherished little sister. He didn't strike me as someone who smiled easily, and certainly not often. Perhaps that was the source of the allure. Rarity turns things precious.

Too bad he was a boorish lout.

The dinner conversation moved on to what the kid's did that day at school. Apparently they had been taken out early to come and meet me, and Vick now had to make up a quiz. I felt a little guilty that they went to all the trouble, and I realized at once that surely the roast beef _was_ a special occasion meal. And I had refused to eat it. For the rest of the meal I felt horrible.

I helped Hazelle clear the table and wash the dishes, and they all looked incredibly surprised that I knew how to scrub a plate.

When my mother had gotten sick, our finances had been depleted significantly by her medical bills. I had dismissed the house staff in an effort to save money, but should have had them teach me what they did before they left. The first time I washed clothes by myself was an utter comedy of errors and a total disaster! But slowly I learned how to keep house on my own. I was quite domestic by now, and for some reason I really wanted to prove as much to them. I was no Petra Cornwell, or Necca Bick. Those frilly trollups would sooner die than lift a finger in work. That being said, I was used to modern conveniences, and this house had few of them. Luckily, Posy helped me dry the dishes and Vic put them away.

Gale helped Vick study for his quiz at the oak table while Posy braided my hair in the family room just off to the side, chattering away relentlessly. I didn't mind, I could listen to her endless ramblings for ages so long as she played with my hair. It had always had such a calming effect. Haymitch and Hazelle sat out on the screened in porch in the back talking quietly and drinking iced tea. At one point I glanced over and noticed their hands entwined. Why weren't they married? As I understood, they'd been together for almost two years.

Rory had disappeared after dinner, no doubt sulking, and I couldn't be more glad to be spared his presence. After an hour of having little fingers raked through my hair, my eyelids began to droop as I felt the effects of two days of traveling and overwrought emotions take me. I made cordial goodnights to Posy and Haymitch and Hazelle, and climbed the stairs to my bedroom, closing the door quietly behind me. I leaned against it for a moment, and breathed a long sigh. Already I was beginning to feel the four walls of this room as a sort of solitary refuge. Kicking off from the door, I walked over to the dresser and looked at myself in the mirror as I removed my earrings, dropping them carelessly onto its top with a clatter.

My mind instantly settled on Hazelle's oldest son, and the juxtaposition of his sour disposition towards me against his treatment of everyone else I'd met today. His companionable silence with Haymitch, his tender treatment and precious smiles with Posy, his kind guidance with Vick, and his loving and protective regard for Hazelle. All of it would suggest that he was an incredible person… but his blatant prejudice of me… could not recommend him. It was clear that he hated me. Or rather, hated what he felt I represented. Perhaps I was the object of his hate. I'd like to be able to pass it off on the government, or the total picture that is the Capitol… not the individual brush strokes that make up the portrait… because who could hate a brush stroke? But all of that was far away, and I was here. The physical manifestation of all that what was wrong with his existence. I couldn't help but wonder what had happened in his past to make him so embittered. Or if I would ever know.

I pulled the zipper down from the back of my dress as I kicked off my heels. Padding over to the closet, I let the garment drop to the floor as I opened the door. With a swift kick, I flicked the it to the back where it hit the closet wall and landed in a puddle of offending emerald. I yanked down one of the nightgowns I'd brought with me, the hanger clanging from the force, and made my way back to the dresser.

My mind was clouded with thoughts of my new life, my new family. If I was being truly honest with myself, this first day wasn't as bad as the cruel imaginings of my subconscious mind. For months and months dark dreams born from stress, grief and anxiousness had created far sinister images to haunt my spectral dreams. I wasn't delusional; I knew that nothing about my new life would be easy. The carefree days of my youthful past were long gone. But I couldn't deny that I had hope that all would eventually end up tolerable. I dropped the slinky nightgown on the dresser top as I reached back to unclasp my mother's necklace. I set it to the side of the dresser with all the care and reverence one would grant a precious memory.

Out of the corner of my eye a flash in my peripheral caught my attention. Reaching back to unclasp my bra, I turned toward the window and the blood drained from my face.

Across the expanse of night, I could see clearly into the up lit window above the garage. Standing, in the middle of the window, still clasping the string to the light, was the rigid figure of Gale. Starring back at me, his eyes wide, dark and unblinking. Frozen in mortification, my body refused to move as I clutched the sliding bra to my chest. The straps limped down my shoulders as my forearm across my breasts pushed them up.

I could only imagine what he saw when he looked at me. Mousy blonde hair hanging in wide messy waves about my shoulders and down my back. My lacy pink panties loosely hanging off my sickly looking hips. All my curves had turned to sharp angles, too sharp for any loveliness.

In a moment that lasted an eternity, we stood staring back at each other. The feeling of complete exposure was so debilitating that I couldn't move, couldn't breath, couldn't blink. A white hot flush worked its embarrassing way up my stomach and across my chest and neck. My mind flooded with irrational thoughts, so thick I could barley sort through them, barely hear them through the rush of blood in my ears, and the pounding of my erratic heart. Yet through all the chaos one repeating question rang clear… it's relentless purpose indignant as it asked over and over again, 'What must he think?'.

Our gazes still enlaced, dark and intense, I watched as his adam's apple bobbed up and down in a thick swallow.

That one motion was enough to propel me from my place, half naked in front of the bright window, against the wall beside it, hidden away from view, my chest heaving from the lack of oxygen as I finally allowed myself to breath again. For some reason, unknown, tears welled in my eyes. I lowered my arms letting my bra drop to the floor, as I reached an arm out for the cord to the shade. Even after lowered, I stayed in place against the wall, sucking in deep breaths, trying to understand all the emotions coursing through me. Mortification took first place, and rattled around my brain like a bolt in a tin can, drowning out everything else.

Calming myself, I walked quickly over to the light switch, glancing over my shoulder to ensure the blind was securely in place. I looked at it, wondering if Gale was still standing in the same spot behind it. Shaking my head, I flicked the switch, drowning the room in darkness, and all but jumped into bed, nightgown forgotten.

When reality finally released me, it was into a fitful and restless sleep absorbed by a pair of hate-filled, dark eyes.

(To be cont.)

Thanks for taking the time to read this! If you feel inclined, please share your thoughts. Feedback, good or bad, is always helpful!

Note: Victors is not abandoned, just still working on the next chap.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four:

It was easily the worst dinner party I'd ever been to.

No one answered the door with a smile as they offered to take a coat and graciously accept a hostess gift. No. The guests just barged in without even knocking, throwing their stuff about, and making themselves quite at home. Hazel only acknowledged their presence by hollering, 'hello' from the kitchen.

There were no passed hors d'ouevres… no hors d'ouevres of any kind! The cereal mix with nuts in a cheap bowl on the table was considered a 'snack'. Even the cadence of the word was awful. While, hors' d'ouevres slips elegantly off the tongue… the word 'Snack' bares your teeth in the most hideous way. Everyone just dunked their dirty hands into the communal bowl, tipping their palms back as they dumped the mix down their gullets, making a mess _everywhere_.

The dinner planned was only one course, and there wasn't even a floral centerpiece for the table! The dress code was apparently two steps down from labor day-wear, and when I asked Hazelle where I could find her coasters… she _literally_ asked me what a coaster was. A coaster!

I was on edge.

The day had been long and taught with tension, and my muscles were so keyed up my whole body burned and ached. I had managed to completely avoid Gale so far, but there was no way I could avoid him at dinner.

Peeta's parents had arrived first, dumping a loaf of bread in my hands as his mother gave Hazelle a cool greeting, and sat herself by the fire in the sitting room. Peeta's father could have been considered a handsome man if it weren't for his crooked teeth, but his congenial nature immediately recommended him. He actually seemed genuinely pleased to meet me. Prim and Iris arrived shortly after, with subdued yet kind greetings. The younger Everdeen sister seemed to immediately fix shrewd and pensive eyes upon me, yet whenever I glanced in her direction, a bright smile would lite up her face. I truly didn't know what to make of that one.

Finally, Peeta and Katniss arrived with little fanfare… unlike any reception they would have received in the Capitol. Haymitch sauntered over to both clasping their shoulders in greeting. The smirk on his face was easy and warm, and I knew in an instant he loved them both dearly.

It was just as Hazelle was putting the finishing touches on the meal, that I heard the back door open, its creak already familiar to me. The low voice of Gale carried into the front room, and I tensed at once. I hated the way my heart sped at the sound of his voice. The sudden and all consuming desire to vomit the contents of my stomach hit me like train. I was desperate to feign illness and excuse myself, but that would have been incredibly rude. They where, after all, gathered together to meet me, of all people.

A low, throaty yell from the dining room signaled us to enter. Unlike the dinner the night before in the kitchen, the dining room at least had candles upon the table, and glass wine goblets. They were of a chunky glass, likely from a cheap mold, but they would serve their purpose.

I once again suffered a mild heart attack when I was set directly across the table from Gale. _Typical_. I refused to stare in his general direction, and instead turned to Peeta Mellark on my left. We had chatted briefly earlier in the evening about his family's bakery, and he seemed the only one willing to speak about the Capitol. Prim was sat on my other side, and she gathered her hands daintily in her lap as she engaged Posy in quiet questions about school.

Katniss and Peeta held hands discreetly under the table, and the loving smile she gave him had me itching to look across the table to see Gale's reaction. Luckily, I doused this urge by taking two large gulps of the acrid liquid they passed off as wine.

Rory, finally making an appearance for the day, shuffled over to sit next to Gale, and I froze, hoping the elder Hawthorne brother had not disclosed last night's _incident_.

I could never live down the teasing from that little git, and for that reason alone I assumed Gale would keep what he saw to himself. Rory's antagonizing would surely befall him too. Besides, if Rory had been privy to the situation, he would be acting like the cat who got the crème fraiche right now… not some sullen, lout brooding over a dinner with company. That slouch! Would it kill him to sit up straight!?

Suddenly to my right, a plate was passed in front of my face. Prim smiled warmly as she handed the plate to me.

"Peeta makes the best minced pies, you must try one!" I mirrored her smile, looking down at the plate of little tarts,

"Mmm, they look lovely, thank you…" I went to take one, when Rory, his voice full of rascality, blurted loud enough for the table to hear,

"You know those have _meat _in them." My hand stopped in mid air as I looked up at him. His eyes were alight with mischief, and I wasn't sure if I should believe him.

"Oh, yes dear, they have ground pork." Hazelle confirmed. Suddenly, once again, all eyes at the table were upon me. I wasn't quite sure what to do. Pass the plate to Peeta… and snub his… _meat_ tarts?! Take one, and hope that no one noticed I didn't eat it?

"Are you allergic to pork?" Prim questioned, her brows furrowed in confusion.

"Uh…" I stammered, unsure of what to say as color bloomed hot on my cheeks.

"Naw… she just doesn't eat meat… you know, a Capitol _life style choice_." Rory nearly sneered. I refused to look at him, but could feel his eyes boring a hole in my head. I swear down the table I heard someone gasp.

"You don't eat meat?" Katniss asked incredulously.

And that was when it happened. For the first time that evening. Her eyes drifted across the table to her old friend, as they shared a meaningful look of allied disgust. It was as if they were having a conversation all their own. Her raised brow asking him, 'Is she for real?!' and his annoyed intake of breath replying, 'Can you believe it!'. It was familiar, and intimate, and if I felt awkward to witness such a thing, I could only imaging how Peeta felt in that moment.

I don't know how I expected him to react to all of this, but Peeta's response was nearly that of well born and well practiced Capitolite,

"Not to worry, Arie, I brought some apple turnovers for dessert, you can try those," and then turning to Katniss, placing his hand over hers on the table in plain site, "It's not like it's uncommon there, remember, Portia, is a vegetarian too."

And just like that, Peeta popped the bubble of the old companions' allied moment, simply by reminding Gale that he, too, had shared moments with Katniss. Powerful moments. Desperate moments. Moments in a far off land, away from all family, and devoid of all friends. Moments thick with fear and death, punctuated by the need not only to survive, but to survive together.

"Oh, that's right," Katniss murmured, as if it all suddenly made sense and was acceptable. She turned her hand palm up and entwined their fingers. With his free hand, Peeta took the plate from me, and artfully shifted the conversation to something else. As the dinner was underway, it did not escape my notice a few minuets later, when Prim passed the plate of roast chicken directly to Peeta, and handed me the basket of bread instead. She gave me a small smile which was easily returned. I looked down at the basket, my eyes scanning for the smallest piece. Bread always made me look so bloated. I tried to mentally calculate how many calories I had had that day as they passed the potatoes my way, but my mind went blank as I heard Hazelle say,

"Gale, why don't you give Arie a tour of the town tomorrow?" Her tone suggested it was not a request. My breath caught in my throat as dread washed over me.

"I have a lot of work to do." He wouldn't even look up.

"Surely you can spare a couple of hours." Hazel countered, her eyebrows going up, and her voice dropping.

"It's fine," I protested, desperate not to be alone with the brooding man, "I can just go explore myself…"

"NO!" Both Hazel and Haymitch blurted at the same time. I was caught off guard, and looked back at them with wide eyes, pondering what could have caused such a reaction. I began to wonder if perhaps Twelve was far less safe for me than I'd originally thought.

"Until… well, until people get to know you, it's best that you don't go about…_ unaccompanied_," Hazelle glanced at Haymitch, and it was plain on their face. No. I wasn't safe here at all.

"I have to run a shipment of bread down to the bakery tomorrow," Peeta chimed in, turning to me, "I'd be happy to show you around…."

I heard a heavy hand drop down on the table causing the dishes to rattle.

"No." Gale said sharply. For the first time all evening I looked at him fully. His dark eyes were fixed upon Peeta, his expression inscrutable, "It's fine, I'll do it." His tone feigned nonchalance but it came out too harsh for believability. The hair on the back of my neck rose, and I realized at once, this wasn't about me. This wasn't about me at all. Peeta held his gaze evenly, but after a moment finally made a slow nod. My heart dropped to the bottom of my stomach. How would I ever survive such a trip with _that_ man!?

Conversation was quiet and stilted after; the air seemed to hang low, humid with tension. Iris and Prim where the first to make their excuses to leave, followed shortly after by Peeta and Katniss. As Peeta stood up from the table he clasped my hand in both of his and told me how nice it was to meet me. His genuine air, and the gesture tipped my lips into bright smile. It bubbled forth, and not for the first time that evening, I thought it a shame he was married.

He threw a quick glance in Gale's direction, and then he added to me,

"If you'd ever like to come over and bake with me, I'd love to pick your brain about some Capitol recipes I've been trying to deconstruct." Again, I realized the invitation had really nothing to do with me, but I wouldn't let that stop me from a chance to bake.

"That would be delightful, Peeta. So nice to have met you both." Katniss gave me a tight smile, which I was beginning to realize, was in fact her full smile. Prim hugged me, to my surprise, but Iris hung back, merely nodding in my direction.

As everyone began shuffling towards the front hall, I realized only Gale and I remained in our seats. Startled, I jumped up at once and began busying my self with picking up the dinner plates. It did not escape my notice that every dish was left nearly clean. It shouldn't surprise me that they wouldn't waste food here. Never the less it made stacking the plates up a breeze. My heart stuttered to a stop as I rounded the table to retrieve the plate in front of Gale. He still sat there, shoulders tense as noises wafted in from the commotion in the front hall. Gently, I reached out to take his plate, holding my breath. Suddenly, his long fingers reached out and wrapped around my wrist. Startled, I nearly dropped the stack in my hand.

"I've got it." He hissed without looking at me. His light grip still burned my wrist as he stood to his full height, towering over me, quite close. The smell of smoke and cedar tickled my nose, and I blushed crimson as I realized I was smelling him. I could tell he was staring down at me, but I was too much of a coward to meet his gaze. As his fingers fell away, I cursed my self for the loud shuddering breath I inhaled. Sidestepping him to flee, he reached out again, his hand connecting with the dip in my side just quickly enough to gain my attention and stop my heart. Throwing my wide eyes up, Gale's gaze had lost all of its hardness,

"Give those to me," he motioned towards the plates. I opened my mouth to say that I was happy to help, but he hurried on, "Rory's grounded… he has to do the dishes tonight."

"Oh," I breathed as he pulled the stack from my hands, his fingers gently brushing my own. I swallowed hard as he turned to clear the rest of the line. Making my way towards the kitchen, I heard behind me,

"We'll leave for town at nine." Spinning about to face him, he pinned me once again with a gaze I couldn't read. Stony and expressionless but brimming with… something. Repressed hate, perhaps? All I could do was nod, before I walked straight through the kitchen, into the family room, out onto the screened porch and out the screen door. I just needed air. Air, and the solace of a dark night.

Clinging close to the shadows of the house, I marveled at how dark it was here, and how quiet. The cul-de-sac was only lit by three lonely lamps, even the glow from the town down the hill was subdued. Nothing like the Capitol. It was always bright and burning. The city at night glittered magnificently, its shine blocking out the stars. Rounding to the side of the house, I plopped down, obscured by a large bush and looked up.

The sky was a mosaic of .05 carat diamonds. They seemed to burn brighter tonight, uneclipsed by the waning moon's glow.

So I guess this meant that we were on speaking terms again. Although, it wasn't as if we weren't before, it just_ felt_ that way. It was bizarre that I had only met him yesterday. It was as if time had slowed down to accommodate all the emotional upheaval of moving across the country and entering a new family.

Suddenly voices wafted over from the sidewalk,

"Whoever would of thought Haymitch would have such a pretty daughter!" Peeta's mother exclaimed. I peered around the bush to see Mr. and Mrs. Mellark making their way home, and it took me a moment to register her words. _What was that, now!? _ "I mean, she's positively gorgeous," the words were a compliment, but her tone was not. There was just a general icy unkindness about that woman. "She must get it all from her mother," she prattled on. That sounded about right. They must have the lowest of low standards in twelve if I was considered pretty here.

"I dunno, she has Haymitch's eyes." I heard Peeta's dad pipe up. Yes… dirt eyes from my district dad.

"We should introduce her to Rye, she's far more eligible than Madge now! She's so fair, think of how beautiful their babies would be!" It was odd to hear a comment on my coloring. Such things hardly matter in the capitol. What designer you're wearing, and which neighborhood you live in are paramount, but we could care less about a shade of skin. I wonder what they would make of Necca Bick who tinted hers magenta for a year, when we were fifteen?

I then realized the second part of her sentence… _babies_!? What a delusional old bitty! Like anyone here would marry me… or rather, that _I _would tie myself to a _district_ man. If Gale was anything to go by, I was in for long years of stilted and resentment-laced encounters with the males of Twelve.

Though… that wasn't necessarily true. Peeta had been nothing but nice to me. I just assumed it was more of a character trait of his though. Of the Mellark men I'd met, they were unfailingly kind. Perhaps the others were as well? I tried to remember if I'd seen the brother on the footage for their year, but my mind came up blank. I wondered idly if he looked like Peeta, or if he shared their love of baking? The prospect warmed me with a small flicker of hope.

However, it was doused instantly as I heard the back door slam shut, and the crunching sound of booted foot falls on the pebbled path to the garage. I cringed at the very thought of _him_. Dread, akin only to the kind I felt when I boarded the train for this god forsaken place, bubbled up inside me. How would I _ever_ survive the morning?

To be cont.

A/N: Thank you kindly for reading! As always, I would love to know your thoughts and feedback, it means more than you know. Happy New Year!


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